


i want what i ask for ( i get what i want )

by dormant_bender



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Ambiguous Relationships, Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Smut, No Plot/Plotless, Non-Explicit Sex, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 19:48:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9510263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dormant_bender/pseuds/dormant_bender
Summary: In which Antoine can get whatever he wants, but all he seems to want is Fernando. And maybe a new car. Maybe.





	

**Author's Note:**

> otherwise known as: "antoine is a spoiled cock-slut." someone asked for a sugar daddy!fernando and i forgot who it was, but this is for you xx
> 
> (( just an excuse for smut tbh ))
> 
> also, title from the song "lurk" by the neighborhood. give it a listen while reading, maybe?

  


Strutting around the luxurious mansion with no actual destination was one of the Frenchman's more frequented hobbies, especially when more corridors were being added on the left wing, which meant more seamless exploring. There are lascivious paintings on either side of the broad hallway as the youth strolls, more like struts, down the plush carpeting that crawls to a stop where the main entry of the house lies.

  


Opening the door and peering out, he spots the willowy man that had presumably honked a horn for him. The blond, wrapped in a Versace robe and a silky, tight pair of matching boxers, cants his head curiously, lips pursing tightly. He leans casually in the door frame, watching as a man dressed in a midnight blue suit emerges from the driver side while the towering Spaniard leans casually on the side door of the expensive car, arms crossed neatly over his chest, perking a brow over the rim of the shades he adorns. 

  


The driver, perhaps a new recruit if the starstruck expression is anything to go by, timidly strolls over the cobblestone driveway to deliver the keys to the blond. Looking rather unimpressed by the car itself, the blond purses his lips, walking forward and circling the car to inspect it carefully before shaking his head and handing the keys to the Spaniard.

  


Antoine, clearly disappointed by the choice in vehicle, carelessly scuffs the bottom of his velvet Versace slippers and even shields a bored yawn with his palm. "I don't like it, daddy." murmurs the blond, shifting on his heel to return to the home, being caught on the arm by the elder man.

  


"Figured you would say that," breathes the Spaniard as he takes a step forward, closing the small distance between their forms, lips suddenly at his ear. He places his hands on either side of the younger's shoulders, offering them a firm squeeze, nodding his head in the direction of the driver who makes a quick call.

  


Midnight blue enters the car once more and eases the car out of the expansive driveway until another car, sleeker than the last, comes into view and a new driver emerges in a deep, crimson suit this time. He takes a few, calculated steps away from the car to give the Frenchman a better view of the custom car, glancing wearily at Fernando, who gently presses the blond forward into motion to inspect it.

  


Looking more impressed than before, and honestly seeming to revel in the color scheme of the car, the blond circles it continuously until finally accepting the keys from the man in the suit. He clutches them tightly, holding the jingling keys to his chest, a broad grin spreading across his lips as he peers inside to capture a glimpse of the interior and notes the Italian leather.

  


Fernando adjusts the lapels of his suit, smirking smugly to himself, looking content as long as the younger was. "Knew you weren't mediocre enough to accept the Jag." 

  


Pocketing the keys within the side pocket of the robe that he wears, Antoine ghosts around the car and strolls toward Fernando, his hand going to tug at the lapels of his suit and tugging him in close. He stands on his toes, much to his dismay, and slinks one hand inside of the suit to grip at the back of the classy material while the other hand goes to the back of his head, fingers tangling in the shortly-cropped hair there. 

  


For a moment neither does a thing as Antoine leans forward, pressing his forehead against Fernando's, breathing softly as he revels in the moment. Then the mood shifts abruptly as he leans higher on his toes to press a messy, ardent kiss to Fernando's awaiting lips. There's no battle of dominance, however, not when Antoine was so ready and eager to submit to the elder's every whim. 

  


So he moans through the fierce teeth nipping anxiously at his lower lip, working his mouth open with his own, tongue plunging into his mouth to fervently explore Antoine's cavern. The tip of his tongue glides along the roof of his mouth, hands unfastening the flimsy material keeping the robe together, hands brushing frantically at the smooth skin of the younger's abdomen.

  


Eventually his hands travel lower and lower until he has a large hand wrapped firmly around Antoine's hardening cock bulging out against the material of his boxers. Easily, he slips his hand beneath the band, hand offering him a few fluid and measured strokes that leaves the blond keening into the kiss as he opens his mouth wider and tilts his head to the side in desperate need of more of the delicate press of Fernando's tongue against his own. 

  


Fernando is the first to withdraw from the kiss, brushing his lips teasingly against Antoine's, shifting his head to the side when the blond whimpers lowly and attempts to reconnect their mouths. "Let's go for a ride?"

  


The blond leans slightly out of the snug embrace to gaze up into those dark, clouded irises and nearly melts beneath the intense stare as he nods vigorously. He chuckles softly, lips twitching upward deviously, knowing that those words held a double-entendre. Still giggling, despite himself, the blond retrieves the keys from his pocket and dangles them from his forefinger, still smirking as he begins to stalk a few steps back toward the car.

  


Fernando follows in-step, hands still remaining on either side of Antoine's waist, an equally as sinister smirk permanently etched onto his face as he backs the younger against the freshly detailed side door of the car. Laughing into the kiss, the blond hitches a leg up, wrapping it tightly around Fernando once he's pressed firmly enough against the door and confident he wouldn't slip. 

  


 

-

 

  


In one of the best hotels in all of Brazil, costing close to fifteen-thousand a night, is where the exclusive duo resides in for the next week. Or however long the blond decides he wants to stay, the sun-setting up above convincing him that maybe another week would do. Despite it being late in the evening, it's still unbearably warm, sweat clinging to his skin even though half of his petite form is submerged within the cool, crystal clear water of the pool overlooking the city down below. 

  


Arms are hanging precariously over the side of the clear glass wall of the pool, baby blues gazing at the lights of the city and how they seem to twinkle up at him, acknowledging his presence. Music blares from the live band that Fernando had hired the night prior, the group playing a new selection every few minutes; it's a hypnotic kind of beat, the kind that makes you wanna dance until you can't anymore, head unconsciously bobbing to the music as he scours the scenery for anything interesting.

  


As anticipated, a pair of hands find themselves attaching to his hips, holding onto them tightly as the elder lingers behind him. Fernando nuzzles his ear with his nose, inhaling the scent of boyish musk and the scent of the new Burberry cologne he bought the younger clinging to his skin. Content, the Spaniard rests his chin against the younger's shoulder, overlooking the city from behind Antoine.

  


"Feels like I'm on top of the world," muses the blond in a whimsical way that has him involuntarily shuddering as he falls lax against Fernando's broad chest.

  


"King of the world," quips Fernando, the blond snorting in response, nodding enthusiastically with a laugh.

  


Antoine is quiet for a moment, reveling in the scenery, before pressing his bare bottom back against Fernando's equally as bare front. " _Kings_ ," insists the blond as he starts to rotate his hips in small, tantalizingly slow circles until the elder's cock is stirring. 

  


Suddenly lips are attaching to the milky column of Antoine's skin, still not even the slightest bit tan from the sweltering heat of Brazil, much to Fernando's surprise. Open-mouthed kisses are pressed along the smooth skin, the blond humming contently within his hold, shifting to expose even more unblemished skin.

  


"Would give you whatever you want," breathes the brunet, voice slightly muffled by Antoine's throat, "just ask and I'll give it to you." solemnly swears the Spaniard as he bucks his hips into the delicious curve of the blond's ass, reveling in the rewarding gasp he receives, the blond reaching back to stroke his cock.

  


"Then give it to me," rasps the blond as he resumes the position of leaning over the glass, fingers grasping for purchase against the sleek surface.

  


Spurred on by the purr and seduced by the plump bottom presented to him, Fernando gets to work, not having to do much since the vast majority of the morning had been spent bending the blond over almost every piece of furniture and appliance within the massive house. So prep doesn't last long, never does with Antoine, who bashfully enjoyed the slight burn of Fernando's cock sliding into him, hips bucking forward until he's fully sheathed within the explosive heat that snugly clenches around him.

  


"Whatever you want," reminds the Spaniard as he begins the steady snapping of his hips, the blond gasping sharply, eyes wanton with lust and reflecting the various lights from down below.

  


 

-

 

  


It's one of those days, muses the blond, as he stands spread eagle for the various tailors that are fluttering around him in a frenzied blur. There are multiple voices speaking to him in a various array of different accents asking him to lift his arms slightly higher or to widen his stance further apart and even telling him to tilt his chin higher toward the sky as they hustle and bustle in an attempt to correctly take his measurements. 

  


Designer companies couldn't properly design clothing for the blond if he wasn't present for the fitting, much to the Frenchman's annoyance, exhaling exasperatedly through his nose as he glances down at a young woman wrapping tape around one of his thighs, writing down the circumference, before moving to the next one.

  


Probably the only thing keeping him even relatively sane is the sight of Fernando sitting within a chaise sofa a few feet in front of him. He's leaning back comfortably within the chair, one arm slung around the back of it, while the other rests within his lap, one lengthy leg thrown over the other. There's a mildly interested glint lurking within his dark eyes as he keeps a steady eye on the blond, unconsciously licking his lips, eyes flickering between Antoine's bright gaze and down to where only a pair of boxers are hanging dangerously low on his hips. 

  


The blond, noticing the enticed look, quirks an imploring brow to the brunet who immediately bites into his lower lip. Immersed in silent conversation, he doesn't acknowledge that one of the women mulling about was speaking directly to him. Breaking eye contact with Fernando, which was probably a good thing if his half-hard cock was anything to go by, Antoine glances toward the bottle-blonde. 

  


"We have new arrivals from the latest Alexander McQueen collection if you would like to try something on, we have a large variety in your size." offers the woman, who's name tag was listed as 'Lisa', explains with a hopeful smile.

  


Glancing over to Fernando once more, finding the brunet shifting uncomfortably upon the couch, the audible sound of material scratching against the cushions echoing through the silence. But the Spaniard is still grinning regardless, offering a slight nod of his head. "We'd like that," kindly states the brunet as he drops the leg crossed over his lap and instead places it on the floor along with the other, widening the stance of his legs. 

  


"Bring all you have," adds Antoine a beat later as he wavers impatiently from foot-to-foot, garnering the attention of the tailors, who glance at each other before scurrying out of the changing room in search of the variety of newly imported suits.

  


"Take your time," remarks the Spaniard as an afterthought as he beckons the blond with a finger, patting his lap, quirking a suggestive brow to the younger. 

  


Almost immediately after the last of the tailors excuses themselves from the room, Antoine is in motion, swiftly crossing the distance to straddle either side of Fernando's waist, arms slinging around to grip onto the back of the couch for leverage. When he swivels his hips teasingly, he finds the elder is sporting a half-chub, to which Antoine's mouth waters at.

  


"Can we go back to the hotel?" pleads the blond as he leans forward, licking a thin stripe up the expanse of Fernando's neck, halting only to nibble at the spot just below his ear.

  


Sighing, more like hissing, the brunet shakes his head. Even though he would give anything to just abandon the fitting, he knew they couldn't, not when it was relatively important to him. "Gotta get your suit for the stupid Masters of the Universe ball bullshit." 

  


Snorting his amusement, the blond occupies his mouth with biting down particularly hard on Fernando's pulse then soothes the reddened skin with his tongue. "Not worth sitting down two hours for just to smell cigar smoke and drink Scotch like we're sixty-five and questioning life." 

  


"Yeah?" Fernando's breath hitches in his throat when Antoine slides from his lap to instead place his bare knees onto the fuzzy white, carpeted floor. Dainty hands splay across Fernando's thighs, squeezing them warmly, then fumble in haste for his belt. "Fuck, fine. Make it worth my while and we'll do this later," huskily murmurs the brunet as he shifts his hips slightly above the couch to assist the younger, who tugs them down to mid-thigh, hand gingerly taking his cock in hand.

  


"Anything for you, daddy." 

  


With that the blond offers a cheeky wink, eyes then shifting to the sight of Fernando's cock, practically feeling it pulse within his palm as he strokes him up and down. Antoine isn't pleased with the sounds the elder makes, however, and leans forward to tentatively lick the tip of Fernando's cock before opening his mouth wide to take in his girth, tongue flattening along the underside, smoothing along the sensitive flesh.

  


 

-

 

  


In the middle of the ocean in Bermuda rests a pristine white yacht with polished interior. There are a few close friends that had tagged along, not desiring to miss a free trip to the Island nor the transparent cerulean of the water, which the blond figures he wouldn't dare pass up either. Music blares from the speakers that are set up all around the spacious boat and most of the patrons are huddled together in the hot tub with glasses of champagne tight in their clutches.

  


Except Antoine, the young Frenchman is more immersed in staring out at the sea on the comfort of the bow. There he is, sitting comfortably upon the wooden paneling there, leaning forward with elbows resting on the railing. One of the yacht's stewardesses had brought over a glass of wine, something difficult to pronounce and obviously foreign, perhaps from Italy?

  


He's dressed in only a pair of tight designer square cut trunks that he had bought a week prior to the trip. A permanent smile is etched onto his face as he stares out into the tranquility of the ocean, noticing a variety of aquatic animals mulling about; multi-colored fish and even a few sting-rays scattered here and there and he mentally thinks to arrange a snorkeling trip the next day.

  


As if reading his mind, the Spaniard is suddenly there, climbing onto the panels to join the blond. There's a noticeable tan to his skin, darkening him considerably, his freckles still ever-present however. He sits back against his palms, hands only centimeters away from Antoine's, joining him in admiring the sight of the animals swimming by.

  


"Something on your mind?" ponders the brunet aloud as he allows his legs to dangle off the edge of the boat, kicking them back and forth. 

  


Antoine grins broadly, knocking shoulders with the elder, shaking his head vigorously in dismissal. "I like it better when it's just us." admits the blond a beat later, ivory teeth worrying his lower lip, Fernando clicking his tongue at the action.

  


"None of that," scolds the Spaniard as he leans his weight onto one hand and maneuvers the other to smooth along Antoine's abused bottom lip, thumb dipping between his lips, the blond nibbling absently at the intruder: "Say the word and I'll fix it." Scoffing, light eyes rolling, the blond turns his head to stare out in the opposing direction. "You know I mean it."

  


"Do it then." challenges the Frenchman, gaze narrowed, not that Fernando can visibly see it as he's abruptly hoisting himself to his feet and calling over one of the stewardesses, instructing her to tell the captain to bring the yacht to whatever dock was closest to dump the passengers.

  


Intrigued by the words he keenly listens into, Antoine brings his legs over the bow once more, rising to his feet and grabbing at the neglected glass of wine. Quietly, curiously, he trails behind the tall Spaniard as he strolls with purpose toward the overcrowded hot tub full of boisterously chattering and chuckling passengers who offer bright smiles and gaze up at Fernando when he approaches.

  


"Fun's over," announces the Spaniard as he motions for the perplexed patrons to rise and find the articles of clothing they had managed to rid off, seeing pieces of cloth strewn haphazardly about. Bewildered squeaks and spluttered questions are sent his way, but the brunet doesn't care, not when his baby is blatantly displeased. "No, I'm serious, time to go. Next stop I'm dropping you all off, so get your clothes on."

  


There was nothing more sensual than the sound of Fernando's stern and authoritative voice, not that the blond can properly do anything about it now, not when there were passengers currently scrambling the decently sized yacht for their abandoned clothing. And, true to his word, the brunet is waving the group off the boat as soon as it docks and is instructing the captain to continue the previous route for a little privacy.

  


But given the status that Fernando Torres held, being a multi-millionaire and all, finding privacy was difficult. Paparazzi are mulling about shamelessly with cameras, wrapped in protective plastic, attempting to capture the the couple on camera while they attempt to enjoy the time they have together.

  


Needless to say, Antoine isn't as bashful about forcing the elder down onto one of the trampoline-like structures near the bow, the Spaniard bouncing slightly as the blond straddles him. There are avid flashes coming from all directions, much to Antoine's chagrin, but he knows for a fact that it would be difficult getting a good angle from their current position. 

  


"Hungry for daddy's cock?" Fernando snickers as he shifts more comfortably beneath the weight of Antoine's body currently straddling his pelvis, hands splaying out across the muscular lines of the elder's abs, and then trailing unabashed toward where his cock is twitching within his trunks. 

  


But Antoine doesn't answer the question, however, knows it's rhetorical. Instead he just smirks as he tugs off the unbearably tight trunks that the elder adorns, tossing them halfheartedly to the side, then repeating the same administrations to himself until they're both bare. For a moment it's silent, the two taking in the sight of the other, eyes blown and darkened with want before hands are suddenly everywhere all at once.

  


Fernando musters up his strength and rolls the duo over so he's above the blond, pinning his wrists firmly above his head, thrusting his hips forward so their cocks brush; both hiss at the friction, desperate for more and, as always, the Spaniard obliges his little prince. 

  


"On your back for daddy." 

  


 

-

 

  


Blurry photos of the duo are plastered all across every magazine though the actions taking place on the bow of the yacht aren't captured as clearly as the paps probably wanted. Triumphant about the small victory, Antoine tosses the magazine onto the opposing leather seat. His current destination was the long awaited, as well as despaired, ball which was exclusive to the highly elite.

  


It wasn't his first time going to an event such as this, more of his twentieth if he were being honest, but it never failed to make him the tiniest bit nervous. Despite being a well-known couple on the rise, having gotten with Fernando a few months after turning eighteen last year, the duo were often seen in an infamous light.

  


Mostly because of the age difference considering Fernando was more than ten years his senior, not that he cared nor counted or anything. But still, they tolerated Antoine, and that was all the little brat could ask for. Wearing an Armani suit, after having rejected the various McQueen pieces, the blond is escorted out of the limousine and is directed toward the long, crimson carpet where he would have to pose.

  


So he schools his expression into a stoic one, though the hints of a smile tug at the corners of his lips. Leisurely he makes his way down the carpet, without Fernando on his arm since the elder had to be there much earlier, with his hands shoved deep within the pockets of his slacks. There had been times he had been approached by world-famous photographers that were determined to sign him to agencies, but he had always declined, mostly because they were underwear brands and he only desired to be bared like that for Fernando. 

  


Soon he's inside of the establishment, being ushered to the table that Fernando was currently sitting at, surrounded by three other men of influence. After being introduced by Fernando, who confidently calls him his boyfriend, everything seems to settle down and a hushed silence falls over the room. There would be an hour of talking, for sure, offering achievement awards for the men as well as a few select women before the real fun began.

  


Currently bored and displeased with the voice of the monotonous speaker, Antoine occupies his time with something else, that something being inching his fingers up the inner thigh of the elder. Fernando has a good poker face, the blond gives him that, and barely even gasps or contorts his features when the blond squeezes his flaccid cock through the material of his slacks.

  


Trying to maintain steady eye contact with the speaker, Fernando refuses to look at Antoine, knowing damn well that if he did there wouldn't be anything to prevent him from tugging the younger boy into the nearest bathroom and releasing the blossoming tension within his pelvis via fucking the blond into the wall. 

  


Antoine leans closer toward the elder, humming softly, trying not to garner the attention of the others currently poised professionally at the table. Thankfully they don't seem to be paying the pair any attention. So he holds his breath, teeth sinking into his lower lip, as he tugs the zipper of Fernando's slacks down and makes quick work of the button as well.

  


It doesn't take long until the brunet is coughing into his hand, smiling apologetically at the men at the table who glance at him in concern. He scowls, eyes narrowed, but still doesn't meet Antoine's heavy gaze even as his hand begins to stroke him slow and languid. Unconsciously the older man wets his lips, spreading his thighs further apart, hips instinctively bucking into the hand while he attempts to concentrate on the speaker.

  


"Want you, daddy.." breathes Antoine, twisting his wrist upon the upstroke of Fernando's cock, the elder man reaching over to the blond's thigh and sinking his nails into the material. Antoine hisses, immediately being shushed by a man Fernando's age and his own combined. "I'll say it," threatens the blond as he works at palming the head of his cock, smearing the beads of pre-cum forming there, spreading the stickiness along the shaft. 

  


"You wouldn't dare." whispers the Spaniard back, voice thick with arousal, awkwardly clearing his throat as he pathetically bucks his hips forward into the tight fist Antoine's hand makes. 

  


"I get what I want." reminds the Frenchman with a shit-eating grin, knowing full well he does, because never had the elder denied him anything. 

  


It's silent from then on, neither breathing a word except for the occasional breathy sigh from Fernando, who is still focused on the way Antoine's smooth palm continues to stroke him. He has to bite onto his lower lip to prevent any more sounds, however, as the hand gains momentum and speeds up. His hand tightens considerably, alternating between firm squeezes and twisting upon the upstroke, the combination leaving the Spaniard panting inconspicuously.

  


And like that, the Spaniard is swatting the hand away, hurriedly zipping his fly and buttoning his slacks before raising in his seat and motioning toward one of the stewards walking up and down the rows with alcoholic beverages in hand. "I already know I won," he says, probably louder than he should have: "just get the organization to send it to my place back in Madrid, I have business to take care of."

  


Multiple people are shushing him, muttering on about how rude it was to boast about such things, as well as a variety of other curses but Fernando doesn't mind. He even garners the attention of the speaker, who coins him a pointed, warning look, but the Spaniard isn't paying attention as he grasps the wine glass in front of him and downs it rapidly before grabbing onto the blond.

  


Antoine, looking pleased with himself and the outcome, allows himself to be towed toward the front of the building where they impatiently await the valet to retrieve the newly-purchased Porsche Fernando had bought on a whim. Almost immediately, one of their usual drivers is there, sliding into the front seat while the duo scrambles into the back.

  


And before the car can even race off into the darkness of the night, Antoine is already out of his blazer and has his dress shirt un-tucked and un-buttoned. But Fernando leaves him in his tie, however, finds ravishing him even more arousing that way. 

  


 

-

 

  


Whatever Antoine wanted, Antoine got. There were no exceptions and there never would be, not when Fernando looked at him like he were the world, worthy of so much more than the Spaniard ever had to offer.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i hope you liked it ? :p


End file.
